the quiet night
by fuzzyvonpretty
Summary: Andrew and Meredith are spending the night together, but that could mean a lot of things. Post-ep for 15x15.


It has been a night.

Getting caught by Webber at Jackson's. Koracick punching Owen. Causing property damage with egg rolls. And now, here they are, back at his place, but rather than a night alone, they're here with Andrew's sister and father.

Meredith isn't one hundred percent sure what to do. After the ambush outside, they're in Andrew's living room. Meredith feels cheated that she didn't get a grand tour; that she's not getting to drop items of clothing on the floor as they undress each other on the way to bed. She looks around as Andrew, Carina, and their father speak in rapid-fire Italian in the tiny kitchen. It's minimally decorated; there are a few art prints on the walls, a leather couch, a smaller-than-she-expected TV, and – most surprisingly – a bookcase out of crates against one wall.

She writes more than she reads, and of all the doctors she knows, she can't think of any that are big readers. But Andrew's got a larger collection than she'd expected, in Italian and in English, and as she looks around she sees a few books, dog-eared and clearly read, scattered around the apartment.

She had offered to leave when they first came in, and Andrew shot her a "please don't go" look, so she's trying to keep herself out of the way while the three of them argue in the kitchen. At least, she thinks they're arguing. She walks over to the bookshelf and picks out a book at random. She thumbs through it and instantly recognizes Andrew's chickenscratch handwriting. She feels a flush under her collar, picturing him reading on the couch with a pen dangling out of his mouth and a furrowed brow.

Having exhausted her interest in the bookshelf, she heads up a flight of stairs to what looks like a loft bedroom. It's as sparsely decorated as the downstairs, but again with the scattered books and here, clothing. She sees his guitar case open on the floor, with the guitar placed haphazardly inside. She hears movement downstairs and turns around, back down the stairs, just in time to see Carina leave with their father.

Andrew sinks down into the couch, staring into outer space. Meredith removes her coat and sets it down on the back of a chair and sits down next to him. He tenses, then relaxes.

"I… I don't know," he says, quietly. "Carina knows him better than I do. I want him to be okay. I want him to be here. But I also don't know what he's doing here and I don't know that he does, either."

She strokes the hand that he's resting on his thigh, looking at him while he continues to stare straight ahead.

"They're staying at a hotel near the hospital. Carina said she didn't want to impose, which is fine, because I didn't want her to." He's still speaking so quietly, not making eye contact.

Meredith wants so badly to be there for him, but she's never seen him like this. She's seen him capable, seen him vulnerable, seen him laid bare, seen him utterly broken – but she can't read this. This is stunned, this is stuck, this is overwhelmed. Her heart aches for him, but her own iron exterior is holding her voice back right now. All she can do is nod, and touch, and hope he understands that this is what Meredith being there for him means right now.

"I just… I want him to be okay. I want him to not kill anybody. I want him to be my father and I don't care about any of the rest of it." His eyes are gleaming just a little bit and suddenly, Meredith's feelings snap into place. Andrew is expressive, and emotional, and though she's seen him scared she has _never_ seen him cry. She feels her walls tumbling and strokes her hand up his back. He's staring into the middle distance, trying to keep it in.

She kneels down in front of him, cupping his face with her hand, and he looks down at her. "Andrew. It's okay to want your father. It's okay to want him to be healthy. It's okay to be scared." He takes in a big, shuddering breath, and the anxiety seems to clear a tiny bit. He turns his head to the side and kisses her palm. His eyes slide back to meet hers and she gives him the faintest smile.

He takes this as an invitation. His hand slides down her arm and pulls her up. She winds up straddling his lap, her arms around his neck while his hands play at her hips – a later-evening iteration of where they were at Jackson's.

The unshed tears are gone, and in their place is the Andrew she knows best – the solid, quiet, capable one. She presses a kiss to his forehead, feeling the need to protect him, somehow, but knowing that it's still so early in their relationship and everything about it is tenuous, she doesn't want push their emotions any farther. She doesn't want to pull down that particular set of walls until they're both comfortable with it.

Andrew senses her discomfort, gives her a tiny smile. "This is not how I wanted tonight to go, at all."

Meredith sees an opening for her to lighten the mood. "You mean you didn't invite your father and sister over to ambush us right before we had sex?"

Andrew laughs, a thick, genuine laugh. He kisses her – gently, softly – and pulls back. "Mere, I don't know if this night is going to go the way we wanted it to."

Meredith looks at him, eyes blazing. "We? Isn't that a little presumptuous?"

Andrew laughs again. He strokes her hair, swipes his thumb down her jawline. "Dr. Grey, let's not pretend like you haven't been trying to jump me all night."

She smiles at him, enjoying the light patter. It has been years since she felt this comfortable, this light. Even after the shitshow of the last few hours, she feels like the cloud that's been following her for the better part of a decade is maybe, finally, lifting. She's not sure what she's done to deserve it, and she's not sure if it can last, but she knows she wants to enjoy it. So she needs to make her next move very deliberately.

He's vulnerable. He's sad. And, most importantly, his focus is split. She doesn't want to take advantage of his fragility – but she also doesn't want to leave. She wants nothing more than to lie here with him. And, she knows, she should tell him so.

"Andrew," she whispers, voice low and gravelly. "We shouldn't do this tonight."

He nods resignedly. "Mere…"

She interrupts him. "Andrew, you are distracted and you're exhausted. You're telling me you're going to come up with your best work in this condition?"

Andrew has to laugh. She's totally right. But he doesn't want her to leave. "Stay with me?"

She feels the tension inside of her begin to dissolve. "A night without kids waking me up? Absolutely."

Andrew braces his arms around her and stands, like she weighs nothing. She locks her ankles behind his back, keeping her arms looped around his neck. He strides across the room and up the stairs, smiling and laughing with her as she giggles merrily. When they reach the top of the stairs, he puts her down.

"Let me get you something to sleep in," he murmurs, padding over to a chest of drawers. Meredith watches as he pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. She knows she _could_ sleep in her underwear, a deliberately sexy pair she'd chosen between the hospital and heading to Jackson's. But that would defeat the purpose of not doing anything tonight. So she takes the pajamas, kissing him lightly on the lips before heading into his bathroom to change.

The shift in tone was sudden, but somehow welcome to Meredith. This was no longer a boldly sexual night, a night where they'd get to indulge in everything they'd been thinking about for weeks. This night was about getting to know one another and taking care of each other.

Meredith looks around the bathroom and is oddly charmed by it. This is a single man's bathroom. She's been alone or with kids or her sisters for so, so long. She's used to seeing curling irons, nail polish remover, hairspray, and a million other items spread all over the sink. Andrew's has soap, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. She's sure if she opens the medicine cabinet she'd find a suite of hair products to rival Derek's, but for now, she's going to leave that untouched. She changes, quickly, and avails herself of some toothpaste. When she exits, Andrew is in a tshirt and shorts, tapping away at his phone.

"I'm, um, done," she tells him, feeling oddly exposed. She's swimming in his tshirt and pajamas, the pants barely hanging on to her hips. His eyes light up, and he walks toward her, hand skimming down her arm and coming to rest on her hip.

"Be right back," he says, and moves past her into the bathroom. She grabs her phone out of the pocket of her folded jeans, tapping out a quick message to the babysitter and the mom of sleepover girl to let them know she'll pick her kids up at ten the next morning. She sees a few texts – from Maggie (a drunken selfie in the back of Catherine's limo); from Amelia (frantically punctuated, barely sensical texts about Leo, Betty, and Owen); and from Cristina (it's morning in Switzerland – the coffee machine is out – and her cleaning lady quit again). She's responding to the last one when she feels him sidle up behind her.

"No screens in bed," he whispers, and she drops the phone back on top of her folded clothes. He ushers her over to the bed and they fall in. She seeks him out and is in his arms faster than she thought possible. They're facing each other on the pillow, warm under the comforter. She's stroking his cheek, resisting temptation to push him down into the pillows and absolutely ravage him. Instead, she kisses him softly, delicately. He's warm, and enveloping, and oh-so-comforting.

"Meredith," he says, and she feels her heart tense. The way he talks to her these days, and the way he says her name – it's everything Cece meant for her to open up to. She needs to hear the softness and the care, the need and the want. They can have rules and they can take their time, but she needs to savor these moments.

"Andrew," she replies, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. He presses a kiss to a forehead, each of her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. Gently, softly, they kiss as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Good night, Meredith," he whispers, as she buries her face in his neck.

She rests her hand on his chest. Her eyes flutter shut and she lets herself fall against him, listening to his deep, even breathing and his heartbeat. It lulls her to sleep, a deep, restful doze.

When she wakes up a few hours later, she's in the same spot. She extracts herself from his arms and runs to the bathroom – this is life in your forties, she thinks to herself. She stares into the mirror as she washes her hands. She sees a lightness around her eyes and she smiles to herself.

She switches off the bathroom light and pads back to bed. As she quietly tucks herself under the covers, Andrew reaches for her. She lies on her back and he settles his head into the crick of her neck, a hand on her ribcage. She feels his breathing even out against her shoulder and her eyelids start to droop.

Of everything that's happened so far this evening, what she's looking forward to is waking up with him. Opening her eyes to see the messy brown curls, the smile, the just-waking-up side of him. As she drifts off to sleep, his hand over her heart and her hand over his, she cannot wait for the sun to rise.


End file.
